


while you slept

by expectingtofly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: And Doesn't Know What That Means, Angst, Castiel Has Doubts (Supernatural), Castiel Has Feelings for Dean Winchester, Castiel Watches Dean Winchester Sleep, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Castiel's Handprint (Supernatural), M/M, Pining, set sometime in s4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:55:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27607286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/expectingtofly/pseuds/expectingtofly
Summary: As Dean sleeps, Castiel watches over him and wonders why he feels so drawn to this humanaka ~angst and pining~
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 72





	while you slept

The motel room is dark when Castiel flies inside. Drawing his wings in to stop them from brushing against the walls, he stands in the small patch of light from the window, orange and pale from the streetlamp outside.

Two beds. Sam and Dean asleep in each, the only sounds in the room their quiet breathing and the hum of the heating. 

Castiel stands there for a moment, watching. He knows Dean says it’s “creepy” when he watches over them, but he can’t help it. He hopes Dean won’t mind his sitting here for a moment. It’s peaceful, quiet, and he relishes the stillness. 

Quietly pulling a chair out from the round table by the window, he sits down. He turned off angel radio—as Dean would call it—when he left Heaven, tired of hearing the bickering and complaints. He had been in Heaven for… he wasn’t sure how much time had passed on Earth. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had been gone for several weeks. 

Dean had prayed to him in the interim—short prayers, updates about where he and Sam were headed next, their plans. His prayers always ended abruptly, cut short of asking where Castiel was, what he was doing. Once, Dean had added, “I hope you’re alright,” and the tinge of worry in his voice had nearly convinced Castiel to return to Earth then and assuage his fears.

He had been alright, if not frustrated by his siblings’ obstinacy. They refused to view humans as anything better than inconveniences, were continually misjudging them and doubting their abilities, and they only grew angrier with Castiel every time he found himself defending humanity, defending the Winchesters.

Finally, it had all grown to be too much and he had longed to be back on Earth, to interact with humans rather than angels. Had also longed to see Dean again, if he's being honest.

The sound of tires crunching on gravel draws his attention away from Dean's sleeping figure to the window, where a car pulls into the motel parking lot. Its headlights stream through the window, running over the motel walls and the table where Castiel sits.

He hadn’t realized it was nighttime until he landed here. He debates waking Sam and Dean, but he knows humans need sleep, knows the Winchesters never get enough of it. Besides, it is easier to simply watch them than speak to them. He’d rather avoid their questions, avoid trying to find the right things to say to Dean. His vessel’s heart has taken to beating too fast when Dean is around, and he finds himself too eager to please. A difficult task since, more often than not,  loyalty to the Winchesters means disobeying his Heavenly commanders, his father’s will. It scares him how quickly he has been drawn in to Sam and Dean's fold, how Dean now expects his loyalty. Dean expects so much from him.

Giving in, he lets his eyes travel again to where Sam and Dean lie. It’s strange. His feelings for Dean are so different than his feelings for Sam.  For Sam, he feels a responsibility to protect, to guide. Feels compassion for what Sam has faced, admiration of what he has overcome. 

For Dean, he feels the same things, but also... he feels a closeness, a bond. Something different than anything he has ever felt for any human. Something within Dean calling out to him, urging him closer. Perhaps a side effect of laying a hand on him in Hell, of touching his soul.

The effects of that touch are still so strong now, though. He finds himself drawn not simply to Dean’s soul, but to his person, to who he is as a human. He understands Dean, sometimes better than his fellow angels. 

Understands Dean’s fears of failing his family, his father. Understands his shame—though he doesn’t shame Dean, never mocks him like the other angels do for succumbing in Hell, for succumbing on Earth to urges to drink too much, react in anger, chase lust. He understands Dean’s loneliness. Understands an absent father and a life lived in quiet, hidden service.

The chair by the window suddenly feels too far away from Dean’s bed. Standing, he steps closer to where Dean sleeps, careful to keep his footsteps light less the floorboards creak.

He stops at the foot of the bed and lets his fingertips trail over the covers, shying away from Dean’s body. Dean lies on his stomach, one arm tucked under the pillow. He looks calm, peaceful in his sleep. Castiel knows it won’t last. He has often watched Dean get in his car and drive fast and far, and he understands the urge to flee, suddenly, when the questions in his head grow too loud.

Understands Dean’s doubts—to his calling, to the overarching plan. Understands too well, perhaps. Holds some of Dean’s doubts in himself. 

He trusts his father’s divine will, his siblings’ commands and advice, but… 

Since the dawn of time, he has always felt different. He has always been eager to serve, always obedient, but he has always been too curious. And now—entrusted with human charges—too beguiled, too easily swayed by their wants and demands. He doesn’t see it that way, of course. Those are his siblings’ words. He himself can’t believe it is wrong to want to protect the humans, to want to help them, learn from them.

Perhaps it is his understanding that is the problem. He should not have so much in common with a human, with Dean.

Carefully, he sits down on the edge of the motel bed and hears it creak slightly under his weight. Dean faces away from him, and the low light makes his hair look dark on the white of the pillowcase, his sleepy expression shadowed. Castiel watches the slow rise and fall of his back with every breath he takes, a small, almost imperceptible movement.

His vessel’s heart is pounding once again, a nervous sensation flitting in his vessel’s stomach. Human sensations, human emotions. He feels guilty to be stealing this moment without Dean’s knowledge and looks down at his hands. He feels guilty, too, for these emotions. He doesn’t know what they mean. 

Perhaps he can tell Dean. He can tell Dean that he is unsure, that maybe he is disobeying God and Heaven by growing close to him. That maybe he shouldn’t feel this way about a human—”mud monkeys” his siblings call them. It is a name spoken in disgust. He hates the term, doesn’t understand it. He looks at humans and sees beauty. Especially when he looks at this one.

Raising his head, he looks at Dean again, but this time looks beyond his skin to his soul. The image of it shining in Hell is burned into his memory. He remembers his awe as he stared at its fractured beauty, at the way it shone in the midst of such depravity. Remembers the sudden, overwhelming need that filled him, urged him to take hold of and protect the precious soul. Remembers flying past his siblings, gripping Dean’s soul tight, and rescuing it. Planting it back within Dean’s skin, rebuilding Dean’s body, cherishing the way his grace worked through sinews and bone. 

He feels the same need now, to touch. Slowly, he reaches out, realizing at the same time that he is holding his vessel’s breath. 

The pads of his fingers graze over Dean’s shoulder where the testament of his devotion is branded into Dean’s skin. The outline of his handprint peeks out below the rumpled sleeve of Dean’s shirt, and Castiel lightly traces it, senses the remnants of his grace still enclosed within. He doesn’t know whether this fiery red marking was a gift to Dean, or a curse upon them both. A bond between two persons who should never have been drawn together. 

But before his worries and the confusion of it all can overwhelm him, something else catches his attention. He can feel the heat of Dean’s body through the fabric of his soft t-shirt. 

Then Dean makes a noise in his sleep and shifts, and Castiel yanks his hand away as if from fire.

Slowly, Dean wakes and senses a presence by his bed, thinks he catches the soft, tell-tale sound of wings fluttering. Turning over, he looks around, but the motel room is empty, quiet. 

“Cas?” he whispers, his voice ringing too loud in the stillness of the room. There is no reply.

**Author's Note:**

> ever since ep18, i cant stop thinking about the way castiel must've absolutely pined for dean all these years. so i thought i'd write something from his pov as he tries to figure out what his feelings mean :)
> 
> if you liked this little story and want more... i wrote a longer fic that explores similar themes of the profound bond and cas figuring out his feelings for dean: [Only an Angel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28414206/chapters/69626394#workskin)
> 
> i'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments! and you can come chat with me at my tumblr [here](https://expectingtofly.tumblr.com/) :)


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